BRENHYA 15
By HECK


Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Confusion. Noise. Men shouting, women screaming, children crying. 
Houses burning, flames leaping, smoke blinding.
  Raiders. Running, slashing, stabbing, killing. Violating. Violating women 
and girls, violating men and boys. An orgy of death and violence.
  The red glow of the burning town, not much more than a large village, 
was visible for miles, like a spectacular sunset. Which is what Lon thought 
it was, at first, and was about to comment upon it when Brenhya kicked 
the big plough horse into a shambling gallop. He managed to keep his seat 
as his own horse sprang forward to keep up, and thought better of 
complaining about the sudden surge when the crackle of burning timber-
built houses and the cries of the terrorised populace reached his ears.
  With no time to plan, the Warrior woman turned the horse into the trees 
and jumped down.
  'Keep the horses out of sight', she instructed as she handed him the twine 
reins and unclipped her weapon from the saddlebag. 'Stay with them 'til 
this is over'. 
  'But ..', Lon said to her back as she sprinted off. 'Oh, never mind'.
  Hoping that Lon would be sensible and stay hidden, Brenhya ran to the 
edge of town, fitting an arrow to the Wheelbow as she ran. She ran to the 
corner of the first building she met, and peered round the corner, 
reconnoitering the situation.
  The Raiders were everywhere. Running in and out of the houses, 
dragging people out into the streets. The men and older women they 
seemed to kill out of hand. Some of the younger women were dragged off 
to another part of town. Others were raped there and then, in the street in 
front of their own house.
  Her first instinct was to charge among them like an avenging demon, but 
common sense stayed her hand and she forced herself to remain calm and 
assess the scene.
  'Think, Brenhya, think!', she told herself.
  At first, there seemed to be hundreds of them, running hither and yon, but 
on consideration, she thought there were probably no more than thirty, 
forty at most. She needed to even the odds a little.
  The secret to the Wheelbow was to draw and fire in one smooth motion. 
Trying to hold your aim for more than a second or two, with over two 
hundred and seventy pounds of tension on the string, would tax even 
Brenhya's immense strength and, while she had proved to herself in the 
past that she could hold it, the result would be a fine tremor in her arm that 
might mar her perfect aim.
  Fifty yards away, two raiders were the at the head and feet of a struggling 
young woman, carrying her off to wherever they were gathering the 
females. They were facing each other, the one at her feet walking 
backwards, and making lewd comments to her as to her fate. Brenhya 
watched carefully, until the two were in alignment with her position. She 
stepped around the corner of the house, drew and fired in a single action.
  The heavy arrow screamed through the night air. The two men did not 
even have time to register the noise it made before it smashed through the 
back of the head of the rearmost raider, spattering the screaming woman 
with a gout of blood and brain, and into the visage of the man in front. His 
face vanished as the arrow punched a fist-sized hole right through his 
head. Both men collapsed instantly and, as their burden squealed in terror, 
another hundred yards further on the missile ploughed into the back of yet 
a third raider, dropping him where he stood.
  'Bonus', Brenhya thought to herself as she ducked back out of sight.
  She became like the shadow of death itself, flitting from hiding place to 
hiding place, loosing an arrow whenever she had a shot that would take out 
more than just one raider. The marauders milled about in confusion. They 
had, by now, heard of her, and guessed that this was her doing, but these 
death-dealing bolts seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere. 
She kept changing her position, so they never had a chance to pinpoint her, 
and managed to dispose of eighteen in this manner before running out of 
arrows.
  The band was in the charge of a grizzled veteran of a sergeant. He knew 
well enough when things were going badly wrong, and sensed that now. 
He called his troops to muster, and the remaining thirteen gathered in the 
town square. Led by the sergeant, they all rushed into a nearby house to 
collect their wits and to better defend against attack. It was large 
townhouse, standing alone with no other buildings touching. He posted 
men with crossbows at every window with strict orders to shoot anything 
that moved, and tried to formulate a plan.
  Brenhya laid down the Wheelbow in a dark corner where it would be 
unlikely to be discovered, and withdrew her broadsword from its scabbard. 
She had seen where the men had gone and guessed their intentions. It 
would be unlikely, she knew, that she would be able to get close enough to 
torch the building without encountering a hail of crossbow bolts. She 
examined the house carefully, taking in the lines and methods of it's 
construction.
  The house was like many others in the town, just built to a larger scale, 
apparently the home of an important businessman or public figure. It was a 
sprawling, single-story building with a door opening directly onto the 
street. At the rear was a long kitchen garden, with a privy at the far end 
and a shed, probably full of garden tools. As were most houses in those 
regions, the roof had been thatched but, although that had now been burnt 
away, the remainder of the dwelling appeared to have survived the attack. 
There were no other buildings adjoining, the nearest being separated by a 
good six feet.
  Taking a wide circuitous route, the Warrior made her way to the rear of 
the garden, to the shed. So as not to be seen from the house, she ripped out 
the planking at the back and peered inside. In a few minutes, she found 
what she was looking for.
  Inside the house, the sergeant paced back and forth, his heavy boots 
thudding on the wooden floor. His men watched him anxiously.
  'Anything happening?' He spoke to the man on watch at one of the front 
windows. 
  'Nothing, Sarge. All the people have got themselves out of the way, and 
there's nothing moving at all, out there.
  'What about you others?' The sergeant raised his voice to carry to the 
other watchers. Their replies all came back negative.
  'Perhaps she's gone', a private said hopefully.
  'Oh, no, laddie'. The sergeant spat into the cold grate. 'She's not gone. 
She's biding her time. Her, and whoever's with her'. The Raiders looked 
at each other with apprehension.
  Brenhya approached the side of the building nearest to the one in which 
the Raiders hid. It was more severely damaged, but seemed to be 
structurally sound. In her hand was a long handled swan-neck hoe. She 
reached up and hooked the business end of the implement onto the eaves 
and, like climbing a rope in the Loop, swarmed up it, hand over hand, until 
she could pull herself onto what was left of the roof. The rafters were 
intact, and she carefully picked her way across.
  At the other side, she could look down at the house. No lights showed 
from inside, the raiders clearly trying to ensure that, in the dark, no one 
could see what they were about. That was irrelevant to Brenhya's plan.
  Carefully, so as not to make any noise, she hooked the hoe over the eaves 
opposite hoping that, by doing so, the tool would not roll. Then, just as 
carefully, she laid the other end on the top of the wall on which she stood. 
She gingerly placed a foot on it, testing to see if it would bear her weight, 
and stepped out on to the handle, holding her arms straight out to the sides, 
as she had been taught by the wire-walkers in the Show. When she reached 
the centre, the hoe bent alarmingly, but held her, and she soon stepped off 
onto the house.
  The ceiling was still intact, made of wattle and daub boarding nailed to 
the underside of the roof joists. She crouched down on the joists, listening 
carefully to detect where in the house was the highest concentration of 
men.
  In the parlour below, the sergeant continued his pacing. He was 
beginning to wonder if they should make a break for it. His men were 
getting more nervous and fidgety by the minute and, if something didn't 
happen soon, or if he didn't make something happen, one or more of them 
was going to flip.
  With a great crash that made the sergeant think the whole building was 
collapsing about his ears, a large section of the ceiling came down right in 
front of him. In the resulting cloud of dust, his vision registered a flame-
haired demon that seemed to materialise before his eyes. But he had no 
time to wonder what it was before the serrated edge of a wicked 
broadsword laid open his belly, spilling loops of intestine as he sank to the 
floor.
  Seven Raiders, not including the fallen sergeant, were in the room, and 
Brenhya was amongst them like a whirling windmill of death. Her expertly 
wielded sword carried the head from a man who had been standing 
transfixed, and slashed the throat of another with the same stroke. The man 
at the window tried to bring his crossbow to bear, but she almost casually 
kicked it from his grasp and drove the same foot deep into his chest. He 
collapsed in a wheezing heap, unlikely to survive.
  A man, more foolhardy than the rest, charged her with drawn sword. She 
neatly sidestepped him and landed a foot on his backside as he passed to 
send him crashing into the wall. She ripped her blade across the chest of 
another, and another found himself skewered by a two-handed thrust that 
drove the steel right through his body to pin him to the wall like a 
specimen in a butterfly collection.
  Two more men remained standing in the room. Brenhya took care of that 
little problem with a spinning double high kick that certainly broke the 
neck of one and left the other with no interest in life any more. Then she 
jumped back up through the hole she had broken in the ceiling and hauled 
herself up out of sight.
  The entire fight had taken less than five seconds, just sufficient time to 
register on the other five raiders in the house. As Brenhya disappeared, 
they all poured into the room at once. The place was a mess, and they 
gaped at the carnage which, apparently, had happened spontaneously. At 
an unspoken signal, they turned and fled from the building, not waiting to 
meet the author of all this destruction.
  All except one. A tall man, even more mercenary than the rest who, 
assuming that whatever had caused this was not here now, saw an 
opportunity to grab for himself anything worth the taking. He picked up a 
fine porcelain figurine that had somehow escaped the melee, and turned it 
over in his hands, walking under the hole in the ceiling as he did so.
  A muscular arm reached down through the hole, and a powerful hand 
grabbed his hair. With a surprised yell, he found himself lifted straight up, 
and his head banged hard right and left, against the roof joists.
  Brenhya hauled the unconscious body up into the roof and draped it 
carelessly across a rafter. She did not want it to be on the floor directly 
below her when she jumped down. She retrieved her sword, and wiped the 
blade clean on the clothes of one of the dead Raiders before going outside 
into the streets once more.
  All was silent, save for the continuing crackle of burning houses. No-one 
was about, but she knew that, in a community of this size, they could not 
all have been killed. She began searching for survivors, the red glow of 
fire limning her luscious body and illuminating her chestnut hair.
  Gradually, people began to show themselves, stepping out from hiding as 
the realisation dawned that their night of terror was over. Some, who had 
seen Brenhya in action, came forward to thank her, but she raised a palm 
to hold them back while she cocked her head, listening. 
  From one of the darkened alleyways, what sounded like a woman's 
voice, muffled but filled with terror, reached her ears. She ran down the 
alley, stopping to listen every few yards, finally pinpointing the sound to a 
humble cottage. A light burned within, the building having been spared the 
torch, and she could hear sounds of a struggle. She stepped up to the small 
window and peered within.
  In her own house, on the mat before her own hearth, a woman was being 
raped. Three burly raiders, two to hold her down and stifle her screams 
while the other knelt between her legs, his backside pumping up and down 
with each thrust. So intent on their lust were they that the events outside 
had completely passed them by unheeded.
  One look was enough for Brenhya. With a single kick the cottage door 
burst open, and in two strides she had crossed the room and grabbed the 
rapist, one-handedly flinging him across the room. She picked up a heavy 
ladle from the table and used it to stove in the head of a second man.
  The third, a touch faster on the uptake than his comrades, came to his feet 
with sword in hand, waving it defensively in Brenhya's direction. Hands 
on hips, she watched him with a raised eyebrow. He made a desperate 
thrust, the point flashing toward her perfect belly. Almost casually, she 
sidestepped his lunge, taking his wrist in her strong grasp and pulling him 
violently forward to slam her shoulder into his chest, driving the wind 
from his lungs with a "whoosh!" Before he could hit the floor, she took his 
body in both hands and hoisted him high above her head before bringing 
him down hard across her raised knee breaking him like a twig. There was 
a crunch as his vertebrae parted company, and she dropped him to lie 
writhing in agony.
  The rapist, having recovered his senses somewhat after his unexpected 
flight across the room and keen to escape this nightmare woman, dodged 
past her, making for the door. She turned to follow, but for some reason he 
stopped right in the doorway, holding himself rigid and motionless. As she 
watched, he slowly toppled backward, a bright curtain of blood soaking his 
tunic as he fell to the floor, gurgling his life away through a great rip in his 
throat.
  In the doorway, Lon watched horrified. Fearful for her safety, he had 
come to find the woman he idolised, and arrived at the cottage just in time 
for this man to run out the door and straight onto the point of his pike, 
impaling himself through the throat. The young wizard dropped the pike 
and jumped back, wiping his hands on his jerkin as if they had touched  
something horrible. Brenhya paid him no heed, but picked up the sobbing 
woman from the floor, carrying her quickly out of the cottage. After a 
couple of strides, she stopped and turned back to him.
  'Good work with the pike, there, Lon', she praised, making it sound as if 
he had deliberately prevented the rapist's escape. He cheered visibly. 
'Now, pick up your weapon, and let's see if we can find a healer for this 
woman'.
  Back in the main part of town, she was gratified to find that many of the 
residents had escaped largely unscathed. A number had died, of course, 
and many were wounded, but unlike other raids she had witnessed at least 
half of the population were untouched. Some were weeping for lost loved 
ones, others were milling about aimlessly in stunned silence, but in the 
main they were undamaged.
  At Brenhya's instruction, Lon began to organise the more coherent into 
chains to fetch water from the wells dotted about town, to douse the last 
few fires. Brenhya found an old woman who knew a little of the healing 
arts, and between them they set about tending to the poor woman from the 
cottage, and others among the populace helped with the wounded, the 
routine of the work helping them to cope with their own grief.
  
  'On behalf of the whole township, I just want to express our thanks for 
what you did for us today'. The Mayor, a hugely fat man, dirty and 
dishevelled but still managing to hold his dignity, spoke to Brenhya in 
sombre tones. The entire surviving population, it seemed, had gathered in 
the town square and surrounded Brenhya and Lon in a grateful throng. The 
first fingers of dawn were beginning to show in the eastern sky.
  'We have had word of what you have done in other, less fortunate, 
communities', the Mayor went on. 'And I feel I should thank you on their 
behalf also. If not for your actions, things would have been a lot worse 
today. Please accept our gratitude, and if there is anything we can do to 
assist you, do not hesitate to ask'.
  There was a general murmur of agreement and nodding of heads, the 
people being still too traumatised to show much enthusiasm. Their feelings 
were obvious, nonetheless. A stout woman stepped forward from the 
crowd.
  'Warrior', she said. 'It would honour us if you would stay and rest a 
while. We have prepared lodging for you and your companion, and 
stabling for your horses. It's not much, given the state the houses are in, 
but we can at least make you comfortable and give you a good meal'. Lon 
crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Brenhya would accept.
  'We would be delighted', she smiled. 'Thank you very much. We could 
do with a hot meal and a rest'. She looked down at herself, covered with 
grime and spotted with blood, and wrinkled her nose. 'And a hot bath!'
  The Mayor and the stout woman, who turned out to be his wife, led them 
to one of the few almost entirely untouched houses on a wide street off the 
square. It had been tastefully furnished with solid, serviceable pieces, but 
most of them had been overturned, and crockery and ornaments smashed. 
Two of the local men put the table back on its feet, and arranged some 
hard wooden chairs around it.
  'I'll just get Ryndi to boil the copper for your bath', said the Mayoress, 
and bustled off to find her servant. The Mayor gestured to the chairs, and 
enjoined the two travellers to sit. He joined them at the table.
  'This is a nice house you have here', Lon commented.
  'Thank you', the fat man beamed. 'It's ..it was ...very comfortable. Of 
course, it's not mine. Oh, no. It's the Mayoral Residence. We try to run a 
democracy, here'. Lon nodded interestedly, to cover up the fact that he did 
not know what a democracy was. Brenhya stepped into the gap.
  'Democracy', she mused. 'I've heard of that. Where everybody gets an 
equal say in running things'.
  'In a nutshell, yes', agreed the Mayor. 'We find it a fair method. Quite a 
new idea, you know'. He leaned for ward conspiratorially. 'We like to 
think of ourselves as revolutionaries!', he winked.
  'Sounds a bit inefficient, to me', Lon put in.
  'Well, it is, it is', agreed the alderman. 'But it gives everyone a fair crack 
of the whip, you see. We elect a new Mayor every five years, and he 
appoints a council each year. We also have biannual town meetings. 
Everybody's voice is heard. Anyway', he sat back, rubbing his hands 
together. 'Here comes breakfast!'
  The maid, Ryndi, entered the room, carrying a huge tray laden with 
bread, cheese, a succulently pink ham, followed by the Mayoress herself, 
bearing a large pot full of steaming hot herb tea and a jar of honey. The 
maid, a skinny middle-aged woman, laid the tray on the table and bobbed a 
curtsey to Brenhya.
  'Your bath will be ready in about an hour'm'. Before Brenhya could 
acknowledge her, she scurried from the room.
  'That Ryndi', the Mayoress sighed, ladling scalding tea into big pewter 
mugs. 'As good as gold, but as timid as a rabbit. Honey, anyone?'
  'Y's pl's', Lon mumbled around a mouthful of bread and cheese. He was 
so hungry, he had not waited to be asked before tucking into the food. 
Brenhya chewed thoughtfully on a piece of ham.
  'One thing I've never understood, fully', she said. 'I've ...we've come 
across these raiders all over the place, in different lands. The pattern 
always seems to be the same. They turn up, demand exorbitant taxes, and 
then sack the place whether the people can pay or not. How does Boulic 
imagine he can continue to collect taxes from people he's killed?'
  At the mention of the name, the Mayor looked around, as if expecting to 
see the dread person at any moment.
  'We're very careful about how we mention him, around here', he 
explained. 'This close to the city, you never know who's listening. But, to 
your question. His men have been coming for years, taking 'taxes' as they 
call it. Really, it's just anything of value they can carry with them. The 
news has been that, this year, they've really gone over the top. Out of 
control. I mean, they've always taken a few girls along, to be the 
Magister's "playthings", as they call it, but this year they were going to 
take every woman and girl of childbearing age. He used to come out with 
the Raiders, but the last few years he's kept more and more to his 
stronghold in the city. If you ask me'. He lowered his voice. 'I think all the 
power's driven him mad. He holds this country, and the others around it, in 
thrall. Absolute tyranny. And that Callias is no better. He just spends his 
days in drugs and lust. He has no influence'.
  'Callias?' Lon asked.
  'Our so-called emperor. But Boulic keeps him so doped, and supplies 
him with so many women, that he doesn't know what's what any more'
  'You say we're close to the city', Brenhya interrupted. 'How close?'
  'About four days' ride'.
  Brenhya gave no outward sign but Lon, his eyes never far from the 
woman, noticed a slight tightening of the muscles of her forearm.
  'We'll rest up today', she announced. 'Get cleaned up and have some 
sleep. I'll move on first thing tomorrow'. Lon did not notice that she did 
not include him in the latter part of her statement. She stood. 'I wonder if 
that bath's ready?'
  
  The Mayoral Residence was one of few two-storied buildings in the 
town. The maid, Ryndi, had nervously led Brenhya up the stairs to a large 
room. There were two beds against the wall, and a low table with a large 
mirror over. But most welcome to Brenhya was the big tin bath, filled with 
steaming, scented water, and the cake of soap and pile of soft, fluffy 
towels.
  'I'm sorry'm, but this is the best I could do on short notice'. The skinny 
woman looked ready to duck a blow at any minute. 'You and the 
gentleman will have to share'.
  'That'll be fine, Ryndi', Brenhya said. 'Thank you'. The maid beamed 
and bobbed her head, apparently unused to being thanked. Her master and 
mistress were not unkind, but did tend to take her for granted. She back 
out, closing the door behind her.
  Brenhya stripped off her armour and clothing and stood naked, stretching 
her superb long body, reaching her arms to the ceiling. A tremor of delight 
ran through her, and she shook out her muscles to relax. She caught sight 
of herself in the mirror, and ran a critical gaze over her reflection. There 
was no vanity in her inspection; just the cool, appraising eye of a 
professional Warrior checking out her best weapon.
  She examined her wide shoulders, with the hard, rounded deltoid caps, 
and twisted round to view as much as she could of her muscular back. She 
flexed her arms, raising a large, domed bicep on each, and was satisfied 
with the tone and shape. Her breasts, large but not huge, beautifully shaped 
mounds of femininity, were perfectly supported by the pectorals beneath. 
She drummed her fists on her belly, flat and hard as a board, and the 
hollow sound it made met with her approval. She scrutinised her flared 
thighs and long, long, powerful legs, a kick from which could fell a horse, 
and was content not to find the slightest trace of softness in any muscle or 
any blemish on her splendid body. 
  With a sigh, Brenhya lowered herself into the steaming tub, luxuriating in 
the warmth and scent. She soaped her body all over, running her hands 
over her limbs, constantly assessing the tone and condition of her muscles. 
She rubbed lather into her chestnut mane, rinsing repeatedly to restore its 
natural shine, before lying back in the water. The tension of the road, and 
of the violence she had seen and perpetrated over the months and years, 
fled her muscles to leave her, temporarily, relaxed and vulnerable.
  Her hands lay against the golden skin of her belly, fingers moving in lazy 
circles, enjoying the silky feel. Every so often, her fingertips would brush 
across her pubic hair or the edge of her groin, and she would shiver a little 
as a tingle of delight ran through her. Gradually, her hands moved in ever-
widening circles, until she was caressing her fabulous breasts with one 
while running the fingers of the other along her inner thighs.
  Her lovely, cherry-sized nipples became hard and erect as her fingers 
played with them and to her delight she found that, if she turned them 
upwards and bent her head forward, she could just get her tongue on the 
very tip.
  She moaned and arched her back with pleasure as the fingers of her other 
hand found the lips of her vulva and the hard button of her clitoris within. 
Waves of ecstasy flooded through her as she manipulated the prominent 
bud. Exploring further, she slipped first one finger, then another, into the 
moist tunnel that was her vagina, probing ever deeper, thrusting her digits 
in and out, while at the same time fondling her own magnificent breasts.
  The muscles of her thighs and arms were tense as Brenhya experienced 
and revelled in her own strength, feeling the tremendous power in her 
limbs and hands as she brought herself closer and closer to climax. Her 
fingers were now plunging deep inside, urgently trying to find the spot 
that, once stimulated, would give her release, while at the same time 
attempting to prolong the pleasure.
  Finally. Blessedly, her orgasm was upon her. Pulsing and pulsing, 
building to a height of ecstasy, the wonderful feeling filled her body, her 
soul, her entire being. Her stomach flexed spasmodically and her back 
arched. Water from the tin bath splashed unheeded onto the floor, 
spreading across the boards in waves that mirrored the waves of passion 
spreading through her body. Low moans escaped her open mouth, panting 
like a puppy dog as she pleasured herself.
  At last, the waves subsided and she relaxed back into the tub, sighing to 
herself as the glory of the climax ebbed away. After so long on the road, 
after so many battles, Goddess knew, she had needed the release.

  It was an hour or so later when Lon let himself into the room, treading 
carefully to avoid noise. He gazed with adoring eyes at the woman he 
loved so much but could never have, as she lay peacefully sleeping, auburn 
locks spread out across the pillow. She looked, he thought, like an angelic 
little girl, lying there with a dreamy smile on her beautiful face.